Lileks: Google has a list of words each state can't spell. It's wierd (stet)

Google, which knows all and sees all, has released a list of the top spelling searches for each state in 2020. Let us all have a moment of silence for Kansas.

And by "silence" I mean that sort of uncontrolled giggling you get when someone puts his eye out trying to use a slingshot.

Kansans googled ... the proper way to spell "cook." This is like googling the recipe for boiled water.

Oregon, for some reason, wanted to know how to spell "elephant," suggesting there was a rogue jumbo infected with COVID rampaging through the verdant forest, spraying virus out his trunk. (Quick: Imagine how an elephant would wear a mask.)

Vermont was unclear on the spelling for "tonic," which makes you wonder if they had hit the gin too hard. This was probably due to the stories about a quinine-based virus cure, but it makes you wonder why the folks in New Hampshire — but no one else — were trying to figure out how to spell "hydroxychloroquine."

Mississippi had another timely search: "bidet." You know why. Everyone was down to one roll of toilet paper and wondered whether they should retrofit the bathroom with one of those fancy European commodes. How many people looked at the proper spelling and said "Bye-det? How do you get bee-day out of bye-det?" Or perhaps they'd had a lot of gin and tonic and were searching for news about the Democratic presidential candidate. You know, Joe Bee-den.

In Connecticut, the top spelling search was for "grandma." "How about that: It turns out it does have a D. I'll adjust my pronunciation accordingly."

An intermittent light rain or doughnut toppings might have caused Oklahomans to google "sprinkles." Stoic fatalism is evident in Georgia, which wanted to know how to spell "probably." Hawaiians might be taking to woodworking during the lockdown, which would explain why they wanted to know how to spell "cabinet."

Alaskans were the only ones who googled "coronavirus," much like someone who sees a wave heading their way and wonders if "tsunami" starts with a T. It does, but it's silent, like the one in bidet but not the one in cabinet.

You're wondering what our word was. Well, we googled the word seven other states found perplexing, "quarantine." I'd like to think we knew quite well how it was spelled but just wanted to make sure.

Too bad we didn't google how to spell "Walz." The rest of the country likely wouldn't recognize the governor's name, but at least they'd think we're using our quarantine time wisely to learn how to dance.